Don't Say a Word (Hometown Antihero)

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  My only saving grace was that even if I’d wanted to rekindle something with AJ, I couldn’t—not easily, anyway. Agent Dawson, code name Alex Cedrics, wouldn’t make that easy. My new-to-town ex-boyfriend was there because of me, and, like it or not, that said something publicly, even if we weren’t dating. There wasn’t much room for AJ in that equation.

  Even if I wanted there to be.

  FIVE

  I made it to final period before I even saw Dawson.

  When I did, I had to look twice. He was in full hipster mode, and it totally worked. I’d only ever seen him when he was working or crashing my homecoming dance, so I had no clue what he normally dressed like. I’d always joked about him looking like he’d stolen his dad’s clothes in the morning for work. In that moment, I wasn’t laughing. Everything about his style suited him, from the fitted jeans to the threadbare vintage tee he’d paired with it. His hair was edgier looking than it was when he was working—more high-end and less buttoned-up. Agent Dawson was hot, there was just no denying it.

  And it seemed the girls of JHS had quickly come to the same conclusion.

  He moved through the hall like a shark cutting through a school of guppies. Those girls were babies compared to him—they lacked both the maturity and the intellect to hang. And even though I knew he had zero interest in their attention, it irritated me to see them flirting with him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t doing a great job not flirting back. I wondered exactly what kind of reputation he was hoping to earn at my school.

  Then he saw me, and his eyes lit up. He stopped talking to the harem following him through the halls and made a beeline for me. I’d barely gotten the word “hi” past my lips when he leaned in and nuzzled my cheek with his nose. Heat shot through me for a moment as if the reality of the situation had evaporated—as if we were two teenagers in love. Then I looked up at his haughty, mocking expression, and reality slammed back down.

  “Hi yourself,” he replied, his face still hovering close to mine. I looked away from him to see a gaggle of glaring lower classmen focused on me. Without thinking, I wrapped my arm around Dawson’s waist and leaned into him, turning my gaze up to face him. Even though I knew who I was standing with and that a small part of me loved to hate him, I relished the feeling of shutting those girls up. They already hated me, that much was for sure, but letting them hate me for this particular reason was so much more rewarding.

  Even if it was a lie.

  “Do I need to explain to you how exes behave?” I said to him, quietly enough that only he could hear me in the chaos of class change. “Because you seem a bit confused.”

  His eyes drifted over in the direction the girls had been. A wry smile spread across his face.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Hardly. And they’re the only reason your balls are still intact.”

  He looked back down at me, a more serious expression taking over his face.

  “Where are you headed now?”

  “Spanish. You?”

  The smile returned. “Same.”

  “Super. Can’t wait.”

  “Maybe I can get a seat beside you. We can pass notes all class.”

  I dropped my arm from his waist.

  “Seriously, how old are you? Nobody does that anymore. We text with cellular phones,” I explained, overemphasizing the words.

  “Good to know. Wouldn’t want that to blow my cover. Now, which way are we going?”

  “Follow me.” I started off in the direction of the stairs and he trailed behind.

  Once we got to our class, I took my seat next to Jaime Chavez while Dawson handed his schedule to Mrs. Stewart. She smiled at him, then announced him to the class. Not surprisingly, nobody but the girls cared. It was funny watching them perk right up at the sight of the new guy.

  He was given a desk two rows over from me. I suddenly became overly self-aware. I needed a distraction.

  “Who’s the new kid?” Jaime asked, leaning toward me.

  “That’s Alex. My ex-boyfriend.”

  I could practically hear Jaime’s surprise. I turned to find his eyebrows high on his forehead.

  “Why’s he here?”

  “He transferred here because he was worried about me.”

  “Are you getting back together?”

  His curiosity in the matter was unnerving.

  “Why? Did you want a crack at dating me, Jaime?”

  He frowned. “No.” I tried not to laugh. “Does AJ know about him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jaime leaned back in his seat. “I don’t want to be the one to break that news,” he mumbled to himself.

  That made two of us.

  * * *

  Thankfully, no notes were passed by Dawson that class. When the bell rang, I got up to leave and felt him hovering at my side, behind me just enough to let me out.

  “Where to now?” he asked.

  “Home, genius. School’s over.”

  “And I was having so much fun.…”

  His deadpan answer almost worked, but when I turned to face him, I could see the loathing hiding just below the surface. He hated being there almost as much as I did. Maybe more. It was hard to blame him, though. He’d survived high school once. Having to do it again seemed inhumane.

  I had no idea what to say, which was rare, so I let it go and made my way out of the room.

  “Did you learn anything interesting today?” I asked, hoping my casual question wouldn’t arouse suspicion in anyone passing by. I looked back to find Dawson scowling at me as we descended the stairs.

  “No. Just getting the lay of the land. Taking notes. The real work will start tomorrow.”

  “Ah…” His double entendre wasn’t lost on me.

  “Am I coming over later?” he asked as we made our way through the main doors and into the mass of people waiting for their buses.

  A few of them shot me curious looks, then started whispering with those around them.

  “Dude!” I said, pulling him closer. “You can’t say things like that here. Everyone will always assume the worst about every comment. They’ll read into everything. You might as well have just asked if we’re having ex-sex tonight!”

  A pause.

  A smile.

  “Are we?”

  I looked to the sky. “I feel like there should be a special spot in heaven for me after this.…”

  “All right, Kylene. You’ve made your point.”

  “Good.”

  “Let me try again. Can we meet up to do some homework tonight?”

  I shot him a wary glance. “Better. Not perfect, but better. And I don’t know. I have to get some things done at home. I’ll call you.”

  “Getting your hooks in the fresh meat before he learns your reputation, Danners?” a male called out, followed by the laughter of those around him. I turned to find Scooter Brown high-fiving some kid I didn’t recognize. I sighed heavily in preparation for the battle I was about to wage—but, for the second time that day, it never came. Instead, I heard Dawson’s voice ring out over the laughter, shutting it down.

  “I’ve known her for two years. I have no concerns about her reputation. This town’s, however…” He grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “If I were you, I’d be a bit more worried about that.”

  As if dismissing them entirely without a care in the world, Dawson turned his back and walked away, leaving them, and me, speechless for a moment.

  “I’d watch your mouth, man!” Scooter shouted after him. Dawson just waved his hand in the air in a yeah-okay-I-got-it kind of way, never breaking his stride. The shock and awe of those that saw it was palpable. You didn’t tell off football players in Jasperville. Not unless you wanted to live in fear for the rest of your school years. But Dawson had done just that and in a way that silently flipped the bird at them in the process. It was clear that Scooter and his crew had no idea what to do in response. Every attempt at a comeback came off weak. Every threat died on their tongues.
<
br />   On Dawson’s first day of school, he’d managed to shut down a legacy of bullying that predated the Internet like it was nothing. I frowned as I walked toward the parking lot, trying to deny the jealousy I felt. I’d barely survived my return to JHS from the moment I set foot in the place.

  And Dawson, in one day, all but owned it.

  SIX

  I was exhausted when I got home. My body was almost healed from the attack, but my mind, if I was honest, wasn’t faring nearly as well. Sleep had been elusive at best since that night, and my general level of anxiety was a five out of ten at any given moment. I felt like I was hovering on the edge of a cliff, constantly warring with myself as to whether or not I should jump or run from it screaming. The in-between was maddening.

  The only thing I’d found to help was keeping busy, which meant not allowing myself to slow down. Sleep was slowing down on crack, so that just didn’t work. Insomnia, however, wasn’t proving a great long-term solution, either. I needed a distraction of a healthier variety.

  Luckily for me, one called me around dinnertime.

  I picked up Gramps’ landline—the one he insisted he still needed. I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Kylene Danners?” a muffled voice replied.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “You can call me Jane.”

  “What can I do for you, Jane?” I replied, my dubious tone calling out her fake name.

  “I want your help.”

  Silence.

  “Help with what?”

  “I need you to get me out of somethin’—before it gets me killed.”

  That got my attention. “What ‘something’ are we talking about here?”

  More silence.

  “I—I needed cash, and at the time this seemed the best way to get it…”

  “How did you get it?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

  “I … I had sex for money—have sex for money.”

  My hair bristled. She’s one of the girls … “Are you working for someone else?” I asked, hoping she’d have the answers Dawson needed.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know who.”

  “Listen, I’d love to help you out, but you need to go to the police.”

  Her laugh was full of bitterness and contempt. “You can’t be serious. You aren’t that dumb, Kylene. You have no idea who the johns are. How powerful. How untouchable.”

  “Then how can I do anything?”

  “You brought down Donovan Shipman without the help of the cops and exposed that shady doctor in the process. I’m willing to bet you can get me what I need to get outta this.”

  “Maybe,” I said, leaning back into the couch. “But I’m hardly a PI or muscle for hire. I nearly died.”

  “Listen, I’m desperate,” she said. “I can’t bring down whoever is behind this and I don’t trust the cops to, either. I’ve had my share of run-ins with Higgins and his crew.” The tone of her voice told me she knew that the sheriff’s department wasn’t on the up-and-up—she just didn’t know why like I did—the photo scandal had exposed the sheriff’s shadiness almost as much as it had my boobs.

  “I wouldn’t trust the locals, either, but I know for a fact that the feds are looking into it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s great and all, but I’m not sure what they’re gonna find. They might be able to track the johns—maybe identify some of the girls—but everything is done through disposable phones and direct deposits. I have no idea who’s behind this. Neither do they.”

  I bit my lip, wondering if I should play the Dawson card, then decided not to. There had to be another way to get a lead.

  “Someone has to know who he is,” I said, letting my words hang between us.

  The longer she took to reply, the more my anxiety spiked. My heart raced and my hands sweated, and I wondered if I’d just made a terrible mistake—pushed her too hard.

  “Someone did…,” she said, her voice shaky with nerves. “She tried to get out. She’s dead now.”

  Adrenaline shot through me.

  “Jane, you need to go to the feds—”

  “No!” she shouted before lowering her voice. “No. No cops. I can’t risk it.”

  “Okay,” I said in a calm tone. “But let’s say I agree to help, what is it you want me to do? You need to tell me something about this mess you’re in that I can use, or my hands are tied.”

  She was silent for a minute, undoubtedly weighing out her options. It was clear that she was smart—distorting her voice. Not giving me her real name.

  Or maybe she was just scared.

  “I need you to understand somethin’, Kylene. I don’t trust anyone—not anymore. I can’t afford to.” She paused for the briefest of moments. “But I need you to bring down whoever is doing this to me,” she said, anger building in her tone. “You’re my ticket outta this hell.”

  Hell was something I understood.

  I thought about how bad things had to be for her—how desperate she must have been to have willingly gone into prostitution. My topless pics seemed like someone took my ball away from me on the playground in comparison. I’d gotten all the justice I ever would for myself. I wanted to do the same for her.

  “Here’s the good news, Jane. I don’t need you to trust me,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I need you to give me a damn clue so I can start bringing this asshole down.”

  “Danielle Green,” she said so quietly that I barely heard her over the din in the background.

  “Danielle Green?” I repeated.

  She scoffed. “You don’t know who she is, do you?” I shook my head as if she could see me. “That figures. People like you never see girls like us. It’s like we don’t even exist.”

  “Who is she?” I asked, trying not to flinch at her jab.

  “She’s the one that got me into this. The one in contact with the guy running the show.”

  My heart raced. “The recruiter.”

  She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

  “I knew others, too—the ones before Danielle. They’ve gone missing over the years, but I never put together why until Danielle was killed. I thought they’d just run away to escape it all. Turns out that ain’t the case.”

  “Who else—”

  “Do yourself a favor and Google search for runaways in this area over the past few years. You’ll find quite a few—too many, in my mind. Not a single one was ever heard from again.”

  “Give me the names, Jane,” I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

  “Shit,” she breathed into the phone. “I have to go. Do what I told you to do. I’ll call you soon.”

  I blurted out my cell number and she grunted in acknowledgment before the line went dead.

  I sat in silence for a solid minute, my mind reeling from what had just gone down. This was the clue Dawson needed—the one he’d come to Jasperville for—and she was dead. Now he was left with an informant that wouldn’t work with the feds—only me. He was stuck letting me in on the case whether he liked it or not.

  With a heavy exhale, I grabbed my bag and keys and headed for Dawson’s place. I was about to bring him the lead he needed.

  A dead one.

  SEVEN

  I drove to the address Dawson had given me in one of his many texts I never responded to in the week following the attack. I knew exactly where his rental house was—a tiny neighborhood of small, slab-style ranch homes. It wasn’t the fanciest place to live, but rental homes were few and far between. There were far worse in town, and even worse still the farther from town you got.

  The redbrick house was the last on a dead-end street, which made for easy parking. I rolled up in front of 68 Willow Lane to find the lights on inside. Dawson stood in front of the picture window, scowling out into the darkness. I hadn’t told him I was coming over. But did a fake ex-girlfriend really need to?

  By the time I headed up the
short concrete walkway, the front door was open. He leaned against the doorjamb, looking every bit his normal cocky self. His first day at school had done little to bruise his ego. In fact, it was bolstered by the drooling girls who did nothing to hide their desire for fresh meat. The fact that the fresh meat was there for me sure didn’t help the lack of Ky Danners love in that place.

  If looks could have killed, I’d have been six feet under.

  “Miss me already?” he asked, plastering on a smile that looked more menacing than playful.

  “I am a glutton for punishment,” I replied, pushing past him into the house—without invitation.

  “Come on in, babe—”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Call me babe again and I’ll bury your balls somewhere deep inside your abdomen. Got it?”

  He laughed. “Isn’t that what all high school kids say to the loves of their lives?”

  “Ex-love of your life,” I corrected. “And I wouldn’t know. Go do some research, undercover wonder. See what you come up with.”

  “Did I hit a nerve? Memories of a bad relationship past?”

  “No. Memories of bad eighties movies my parents made me watch. You sound like a douche when you say it. The fact that you obviously don’t mean it only makes it worse. I literally want to peel my skin off when I hear it leave your mouth.”

  “Wow. Really?” He looked not at all unnerved by that statement. Unfortunately, it seemed to fuel his desire to repeatedly use that Neanderthal term of endearment. Or ownership, however you wanted to view it.